The Way He Looks at Her
by SecretAgentSyd
Summary: Someone's thinking about Vaughn and the woman he loves. A quick, one-shot look into someone's head.


**The Way He Looks at Her**  
by SecretAgentSyd  
**Synopsis:** an angstyish, first person POV fic. Someone's thinking about Vaughn and the woman he loves. A quick, one-shot look into someone's head. My first _Alias_ fic.  
**Rating:** Rated PG, I guess. No one swears or anything, but it just doesn't seem like a G-rated fic, hehe.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothin' :)  
- - -  
I hate the way she looks at him.   
  
When she looks at him, it's as if she's hypnotizing him. He's never able to look away. He's always entranced by her sparkling eyes, eyes that only shine for him.   
  
I hate that look in her eyes.   
  
When she looks at him, she speaks without words, confesses her sins, breaks old promises, and creates new ones. It's haunting, the way just one little look gives him access to her heart and soul; she allows him to learn all he would ever want to know, just through that look of hers.   
  
It sends shivers up my spine watching him absorb every little thing about her. He studies her, memorizes the curves of her face... I hate it. I absolutely hate it.   
  
Although... I'll admit it. There _is_ something I hate more than the way she looks at him.   
  
The way he looks at her.   
  
When he looks at her, his eyes convey this promise of unconditional love, of undying passion, of perpetual devotion. I've never seen him look at anyone that way before, not even me. It's... unnerving.   
  
I can't stand to be in the same room with the two of them. There's this tension that can be as icy and fragile as it can be fiery and dangerous. One minute we're all walking on our tiptoes, afraid to shatter a calm silence with even a whisper; then, suddenly, we're dancing on hot coals, fueling the fire with our ever growing anger.   
  
There's no middle ground for us. She and I, we'll never get along, and it was stupid of us to ever think we could have. I'm sure the two of us have plenty in common, but then again, maybe that's the problem.   
We have too much in common.   
  
We're in love with the same man.   
  
As much as I wish otherwise, we can't help who we love. She loves him, and I love him, and there's no escaping, nor avoiding, that fact. The real question, however, is: Who does he love? I have my ideas, and I have my doubts, but I have no convictions, really.   
  
Will we ever know which of us his heart beats for? Will we ever know who he thinks about, all through the day and into the night? Will we ever know who he dreams about, whose name he whispers in his sleep?   
  
Sometimes, just by the way he looks at her, I_ feel_ like I have the answer.   
  
I wonder how much longer I can go on pretending. He loves her. He has to.   
  
I see them together sometimes. They try to hide it, for my sake, most likely, but I know it to be true. There's a warmth in his eyes, when he looks at her, and he flashes her this special smile, too. He hugs her differently and speaks to her differently and everything he does when he's around her, he does it differently. She's obviously very special to him, and I hate that.   
  
Sometimes, I wish he'd look at _me_ that way. I wish he would offer to bring me the moon and the stars, only because he loves me. But then I wonder... do I really want him to keep lying to me? Do I really want him to make a promise he's only sure to break? Do I want him to whisper sweet nothings to me that only she should be hearing?   
  
Do I really want him to keep pretending to love me the way he truly loves her?   
  
For an entire year, I'd been competing with a ghost. She was always there... haunting me, haunting him... haunting _us_. He was never able to escape the memories. He saw her in his sleep--she was the star in his dreams and victim in his nightmares. Her memory became his savior, his guardian angel, his only hope for survival.   
  
I once thought I could replace her, or at least chase the ghost away. I thought I could become his savior and his guardian angel; I thought I could _help_ him.   
How very foolish of me.  
Only time will tell when his past will become his present... but I do wonder, selfishly: Where will that leave me? I always saw myself as his present, and more importantly, his future. But now I know that the woman of his past is destined to become the woman of his future, as she slowly, but surely, becomes the woman of his present.   
I like to believe that he loved me, at least once. I like to believe that he cared for me, in some way. I like to believe that he had hoped to love me, as time went on.  
My thoughts are suddenly interrupted by the man who occupies them, as he stops by my desk and gives me a funny stare.  
"You all right there, sweetheart?" he inquires. His face takes on this sorrowful, pitiful look, and he seems as though he has something very important to say to me.  
Say it. Go ahead and tell me the truth. You don't love me. You never have. You love her. You always have.  
"Hmm?" I say quietly, shaking my head, feigning a case of daydreaming. I give him a warm smile and lie, right to his face, "I'm fine. Don't worry about me."  
"You sure? If there's some wrong, Lauren, you know you can always tell me," he says, genuinely concerned, it seems.  
_You want to know what's wrong?_ I want to scream. _You want to know what I've been wondering all these days since she's been back? I've been wondering all sorts of things. First of all, why did you lie to me, Michael? And why did you pretend for so long? And why did you make me love you, when you knew you could never love me? Why, Michael? Why?_  
Before I can say anything, though, _she_ walks by. Her face is solemn and facing front; she walks proudly and confidently, as I've been told she always has.  
But her eyes are focused to her side, and there's that special little gleam. And as always, he can't look away. He's just... _drawn_ to her, to that look of hers.  
And, of course, he looks back. He looks back with those eyes of regrets and apologies, of promises fulfilled and promises broken... he tells her, only with the way he looks at her, how much he truly loves her...  
I hate the way he looks at her. 


End file.
